


Two of a Kind

by comma separated list (yasmean)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Blow Jobs, Co-workers, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, i feel shame but it is worth it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasmean/pseuds/comma%20separated%20list
Summary: Eric has spent years coping with the stress of his job, doing the best to manage his misery. Living with Chris was a welcome reprieve from the loneliness. But when he discovers Chris' large secret, Eric finds himself bothered. Very, very bothered.
Relationships: Eric Foreman/Chris Taub
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. I

His nightly workouts were what kept Eric sane in a day to day life filled with genuine, unbridled insanity. Working under House meant a resting heart rate of at least 100 bpm, and Eric was pathologically determined not to become another statistic of a black man dying young due to heart disease. In the gym, he was able to put his frustration outside of himself. The anger that boiled beneath his skin could break him apart if he wasn’t careful to keep himself composed. The job itself was already demanding, more so than it was for other doctors as each patient’s life was literally in his team’s hands. There was no fall back; if they failed, the patient died. And Eric was neither accustomed to nor accepting of failure.

And yet, at each turn in Princeton Plainsboro Hospital Eric was met with reminders of his failures. He hadn’t maintained his position as the head of diagnostics, and had instead been relegated to House’s second in command. He hadn’t succeeded in keeping Remy, a love that burned him up so much that he’d been willing to risk his medical career for her. And every morning he had to push that frustration down, bury it as deeply as possible, so that he could work with her without longing for her. He’d always been adept at compartmentalizing his emotions, but this job had taken that skill and molded it into a true talent.

At the gym, he could let those feelings out. He could feel his agony drain from him, pooling as sweat along his skin, and eventually evaporating. It felt like he was finally exhaling after holding his breath all day, and it felt amazing. Working out was when he genuinely felt good, about his job, about his life, and most importantly about himself.

He arrived at the door of his apartment that he now shared with his coworker, Chris Taub. The offer of sharing his home with Chris had been impulsive, and at first he had regretted it. But now, months into their cohabitation, Eric found himself comfortable and… happy. It was nice to know that when he came home, there was somebody there. It was nice to have someone else to cook sometimes, even if Chris apparently did not understand the proper temperatures for meat. After a slew of improperly cooked dishes, Chris had been relegated to cooking vegetarian, only, and that suited Eric just fine. 

Eric had never thought much about how lonely he was before Chris came to live with him. In fact, Eric didn’t think about his emotions much at all before he and Chris became close and he was forced to reckon with what makes someone human. Because for as much as Eric denied his emotions, Chris was consumed with them. Eric wasn’t the type to cheat, but if he was he wouldn’t have been such a mess about it. But Chris felt everything, all his feelings and the feelings of others too, and in some ways Eric admired how open his heart was. Though he would never admit it aloud, Chris had changed Eric in many ways. He’d gotten him to acknowledge his emotions, he’d taught him to make challah, and he’d shown Eric that it was okay to let people close. That not everyone was out to hurt him.

He opened the door to the apartment with little flourish or hesitation. Chris had a habit of leaving the door unlocked, much to Eric’s chagrin, and Eric had come to expect it. It was one of the many irritating quirks Chris had, but Eric had also learned to let the good coexist with the bad, and to accept Chris for who he was—balding and emotional and all.

Eric couldn’t process what he saw before him. His eyes could see, yes, but his brain short circuited at the sight. Chris stammered, flushing a deep red as he tried to cover himself with a towel. He tried to apologize somewhere in those jumbled words but Eric stood silent, which caused Chris to become even more flustered.

Eric blinked, opened and closed his mouth, and then finally found his voice. ‘You—‘

‘I’m so sorry!’ Chris shouted, louder than was necessary. ‘Please, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’

Eric shook his head, still struggling to rationalize what he had just seen. His eyes drifted to the television, which was playing some sort of threesome porno, and Eric sucked his teeth it disgust. ‘On my couch.’

‘I know, it was wrong, it was stupid.’ Chris was desperate now and looked absolutely pitiful covering himself with a towel—Eric’s towel. ‘It won’t happen again.’

Eric closed his eyes and exhaled, his nostrils flaring. He still couldn’t process what he had just seen. He opened his eyes again and closed the door. He turned towards his room, and saw Chris’ pleading and pathetic face. He shook his head again. ‘I’m not dealing with this right now. Good night.’

Chris blinked, once, twice, and nodded meekly. He shuffled off to his bedroom, his head hung low. Eric watched him go before turning the television off and retiring to his own bedroom. He had showered at the gym, but felt dirty again. Dirty for something that was in no way his fault, but that he felt guilty for having witnessed regardless. He turned the shower on to scalding, and stripped his clothes. He spared a glance to the mirror, and dragged his hands down his face. He wasn’t sure how he felt about what he witnessed, but he definitely didn’t want to think about it now.

Once the shower had begun to steam, Eric stepped inside, feeling the hot water burn rivets along his skin. Though he tried to clear his mind, he couldn’t get the image to leave. It had been seared into his brain. The vision of Chris, reclined against the sofa, sitting on Eric’s towel, the tie he had stolen from Eric tight against his neck as he pulled it, and his hand… working on himself. Eric shuddered. There was a lot to unpack in those 30 seconds, and he didn’t want to consider what it meant for their relationship.

But there was one aspect of what he had seen that bothered him in particular. The rest of it, while weird, could be explained away or at least forgotten. He had seen something that shocked him to his very core, something that he couldn’t just suppress. Chris had been stroking himself feverishly, and even as Eric opened the door his hand didn’t falter until his mind realized that Eric was there, or perhaps that had been Chris’ goal all along. Thinking about that aspect made Eric furrow his brow, but it wasn’t what troubled him.

No, what troubled him was what he had seen. Eric had always wondered how Chris managed to ensnare so many women with his mediocre looks (but stellar personality), and now he had his answer. Acknowledging it made him sweat under the heat of the shower: Chris had a big dick.

Big didn’t even do it justice. Eric thought of himself as big, though he eschewed the stereotype of black men having large penises. He was well endowed, but reasonably so. Enough to excite a partner but not enough to terrify them. But Chris… Chris had a huge cock. And though Eric tried to justify it to himself—maybe it was the angle he had seen it at, his hand was covering some of it, he was circumcised, maybe it was bigger because he was just close to orgasm—he had to swallow the bitter truth. 

Eric would never admit it because it was so petty and vain, but he had been comfortable on House’s team because in spite of all the bullshit he was certain he had the biggest dick on the team. And now, that fundamental truth had been shattered by Chris’ massive dong and Eric simply could not cope with that fact.

Eric swallowed, opening his eyes as he looked at his own cock. He wasn’t completely flaccid, but hadn’t quite risen to the level of a semi. He held his dick in his hands, assessing it, and it swelled in response to his touch. Eric wasn’t a very sexual person, but this realization struck at his very core. It wasn’t as if he had ever paid much thought to Chris’ cock, in fact until tonight he hadn’t thought of it at all. While he’d prided himself on wielding a mightier sword than House and Chase, Chris was not only not a threat but was also his friend. Eric wasn’t sure he could reconcile their friendship with the clear difference in their sizes.

Eric’s dick had become more firm, and he absently stroked it. He was angry, an emotion he could identify. But there was something else beneath that anger, something foreign, and Eric didn’t want to think about that either. He stroked himself slowly, imagining how he could assert himself over Chris again, because there was no way in hell he was going to let Chris win in this way. Eric was confident his dick was thicker, and tried to convince himself he was better at pleasuring others with it but even then he faltered at the thought. His brows furrowed again. Though he valued his friendship with Chris, he also needed to know his place. 

Eric let his mind wander, because if he was going to masturbate he wasn’t going to blue ball himself. He tried to think of his standard fare (Remy and Cuddy) but found himself bored. Without guidance, his mind’s eye showed him a vision: Chris, on his knees, his face flushed and mouth opened wide, desperate for Eric to fuck his throat. Eric didn’t even try to resist the thought, and allowed himself to be pulled into the fantasy. He was frustrated, in many ways, and the thought of using Chris’ throat as his personal fucktoy was appealing.

He could hear Chris begging him, in that nasally voice, pleading for Eric’s cock. He imagined Chris was terrible at sucking dick, he didn’t seem the type to pleasure others, but even that thought was erotic to Eric. Chris making an absolute mess, trying his best to please Eric but failing miserably as he sucked. Nervous and eager and entirely deficient in the art of head. Eric would have to guide him. The image of holding Chris’ head steady as he fucked into his mouth at a brutal pace; watching Chris’ eyes water as his throat was filled with Eric’s large member; Chris’ hot, wet, and snarky mouth finally quieted as he tried his best to breathe through his nose while Eric ravaged him. And Chris would let him, would be an eager participant in his own degradation, because Chris was a slut desperate to be used. 

Eric leaned forward, his forearm resting against the tile of the shower as he continued to pump himself furiously, deep in the fantasy. Eric thought about humiliating him, getting Chris to admit that his own dick was inferior to Eric’s, training Chris how to pleasure Eric appropriately and teasing him for being so aroused. He didn’t find Chris attractive in the least, who would? But Chris was always so submissive, and Eric wanted to dominate him, wanted to make him into a slut for _his_ cock. That open mouth, those pleading eyes, a begging whine— 

Eric came forcefully, his entire body tensing as his cum coated his shower tiles. He panted, the hot water now tepid, and continued to lean against the shower wall as he came back to his senses. With a deep exhale, he stood on his own legs, shaking them to restore feeling. He pulled down the shower head to wash away the evidence of his deviance. 

Though he was relieved in some ways, he was even more troubled in others. But he put those thoughts out of his mind as he prepared for bed. As he lay beneath his sheets, he stared at his ceiling in the dark of night. He cleared his mind to the best of his abilities, allowing the events of the night to fall away, and he eventually fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.


	2. II

The next morning, Eric had all but forgotten about the night before. He did his morning routine, showered, and got ready for work. After finishing his bagel and packing his lunch, he finally realised what was amiss. For the past few weeks, Eric and Chris had alternated driving to work. They kept a calendar by the door to remind each other of when they would drive separately, and upon inspection Eric saw a blank space for the day. Chris had left early, before Eric had woken up.

Immediately, Eric was flooded with the memories of the previous night. They arrived unbidden, overwhelming him. He knew that he could not ignore the issue forever, that at some point he would need to address what had happened; but for now he had to gather himself so that he could face his job and the ever-observant eye of House. 

When he arrived he found the rest of the team gathered around the table. Chase and Remy were rifling through files, determined to present a case that met House’s standards. Chris had a few folders in front of him but was not investigating them and instead had opted for looking everywhere but at Eric, who had made himself a cup of coffee that he nursed with a stoic expression. Chris’ eyes wandered to Eric, who was watching him intently causing Chris to blush and return to fiddling with the papers in front of him. Eric smirked.

House arrived late, which was no surprise, but later than usual. Eric had anticipated some awkwardness, but with some time to sit and think he was now his typical statuesque self. However the long wait had left Chris in quite a state, squirming in his seat and loosening his tie. If Chase or Remy noticed they said nothing. 

‘Good morning sweethearts,’ House proclaimed as he threw his bag into a nearby chair. ‘Who’s got something for me?’ As his eyes rose, he scanned his team. Chase looked the same as usual, presumably maintaining his streak of celibacy. Thirteen had a glint to her eye; she had clearly found an interesting case. Foreman had his hands steepled, meeting House’s gaze with no hesitation. And Taub, Taub was a mess. House made no comment but filed it away for later.

Chase started the bidding. ’15 year old male, intermittent blindness and balance issues—‘

‘Boring!’ House exclaimed. ‘Brain tumor. Next?’

Thirteen opened her mouth to pitch hers, but Chase quite literally beat her to the chase. ’54 year old woman, visual hallucinations and blisters on—‘

‘Someone is an eager beaver,’ House remarked. ‘Not interested, specifically because you can’t wait your turn.’ His gaze flicked over to Taub, who still looked as if he would be sick, before settling on Thirteen. ‘Show us whatcha got, hot stuff.’

’34 year old man,’ Thirteen started before adding a pause for dramatic effect, ‘with constant erections. He’s had blood drained three times now, but they keep coming back.’ She quirked her eyebrow after her summation, and House nodded approvingly.

‘Very interesting…’ House began, before zeroing in on a shifting Taub. ‘Do you have anything that can top Mr. Energizer Boner?’

’N-no,’ Taub stammered, fiddling with the folders in front of him.

‘Good.’ House twirled his cane, his curiosity piqued on multiple fronts. ‘How about we all pay a visit to Peter Johnson?’

* * *

The agony of not knowing was getting to Chris. They were in the MRI room, sitting not even two feet apart, and Chris could feel Eric’s icy gaze burning holes in his doctor’s coat. He’d left an hour before Eric’s alarm was set to go off specifically to avoid this, to give them both the necessary space, to give himself time to think. When he’d decided to do… that, he hadn’t thought much of it. In fact, it wasn’t the first time he had done it. He’d been doing it for a week, and he would be lying to himself if he said he’d expected any other outcome. There was something tantalising about getting off when he knew Eric could walk through that door, something intoxicating about putting himself on potential display. But he always finished half an hour before Eric finished his workouts; he had timed them, extrapolated the data, and developed the optimal time for his deviancy so that he could enjoy the thrill but not risk being caught. But he had made a mistake, he had taken too long and Eric had finished his workout early, and now he was mortified.

Eric watched the clearly written conflict on Chris’ face with bemusement. It was entertaining to watch Chris squirm, and he could see why House took such pleasure in it. ‘Gallbladder clear.’

Chris jumped at Eric’s words, and Eric had to stifle a chuckle. Chris was clearly on edge, and Eric was more than happy to keep him there. The scan continued.

Chris’ leg bounced up and down, his eyes trained on the scan but his mind elsewhere. He struggled to remember what they were searching for, but was reticent to ask Eric. Instead, he licked his lips and tried to figure out how to word his question.

‘Yes.’ Eric’s reply to an unasked question made Chris jolt, his gaze shifting to his friend who wasn’t even looking at him. ‘The answer to your question is yes.’

‘I-I,’ Chris stammered, trying to recovery. ‘I uh, I didn’t ask anything.’

’Not out loud, no. But I know what you're thinking,’ Eric replied, his eyes trained on the monitor. ‘Yes I am upset with you.’

Chris made a choked sound, and then a soft ‘hmm’, and then was silent. Again, his mouth opened as he tried to form a reply, but couldn’t, so he opted for closing it again. Eric watched this all from the corner of his eye.

‘And yes,’ Eric continued, training his mouth into a neural position instead of the smile he was fighting against. ‘You will have to pay me back for it.’

At these words, Chris paled. He struggled to find the words again, starting and stopping several sentences before settling on a question. ‘What uh, what can I do to make it up to you?’

Eric turned to his friend, meeting Chris’ uncertain gaze with his own. ‘You’ll see.’

Chris swallowed, hard, and Eric turned back to the monitor. ‘The scan looks clean, let’s get him back to his room.’


	3. III

Eric left the hospital first, while Chris was on blood draw duty for the next few hours. His stomach had been twisted up all day. He didn’t feel guilty, not quite, but he was certainly embarrassed. And Eric’s bewildered expression was stuck at the forefront of his mind. Chris’ discomfort did not go unnoticed by House, who had made a point to pick at him the entire day. But nothing House could say could match the shame he already felt.

More than anything, Chris was annoyed with himself. He’d worked himself up into this fantasy for a month. It had started as a harmless crush on a close friend, on the only person who genuinely seemed to care about him. Chris had always struggled to differentiate fraternal and sexual feelings; after being consistently bullied throughout his life, he had turned those emotions inward and fetishised them. He had learned to accept the bad, to fantasise about it, because it would remove the power others had over him. And while that might have helped him to survive until this point, it had also left him with a maladaptive sexuality.

Rachel would always ask him what he could possibly enjoy about working for House. And while he had learned his lines to parrot back—that he enjoyed the puzzles, that he felt like he was genuinely making a difference—Chris would die before he admitted the truth. Chris had always been a secretive person, but there were certain secrets that would never see the light of day, especially his furtive, fist-in-mouth sessions on the 3rd floor bathroom when House struck a nerve. The intense shame from House and from his degeneracy fueled one another and left Chris a sweaty mess on more than one occasion. 

Chris’ exhibitionist streak was nothing new. Even if Rachel was the first woman he loved, she was not the first person he loved, and she was far from the first person he slept with. Chris was no stranger to the thrill of being discovered, and while he had become tamer in middle age the desire was still strong within him. 

Chris reclined in the doctor’s lounge with a deep sigh. Their patient wasn’t doing well; though they had managed to place a shunt he still wasn’t clotting. And though Chris welcomed the puzzle and in many ways wanted to distract himself, he couldn’t bring himself to think on the challenge and found his mind drifting to the more pressing matter.

He felt guilty. He hadn’t wanted to admit it before, but he was guilty and guilty as charged. He had wanted Eric to catch him in the act, at some base level, and he should have known how it would happen. Eric was the best thing to happen to him in years, Eric was the closest person he had to a true friend, and he’d risked it all because he was a pervert. Chris could be honest with himself and his perversion. His behaviour had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but he never seemed to learn his lesson. As he’d approached his midlife crisis his philandering had gotten out of hand, to the point where he was renting motels weekly to fuck men who he would hopefully never see again. And yet, as his body count continued to rise, that sick itch in the pit of his stomach had never gone away.

He’d thought the quasi-exhibitionism would cure him, or at least keep it at bay. There was no way he could bring twinks to Eric’s apartment, and with the pending divorce his lawyer had advised him to be careful with how he spent his money. But the truth was that Chris wanted to change. He was no longer a 20-something with nothing to lose, he was an adult with responsibilities and a career. He couldn’t spend his nights picking up young men when he had a 7 AM start time. But despite knowing this, he was still doing the same stupid stunts, he was still waking up before the sun had risen to arrive at work early so he could shower the filth of the night before down the locker room drain. He was still loathing himself, and he was still seeking out what made him hate himself.

He knew he could stop, and he’d tried. More than anything he had tried. But there was a part of of him that could not be loved. Some deep side of himself that was a gaping hole. There was a crevice in his soul, he was incomplete, and though he had tried no number of self help books or amount of self love could fill him like he needed. All his life he’d been desperate for someone to hold him down, to put him through it. To see him in the worst of it and still accept him. And Eric, Eric had that quiet dominance, that cold confidence, and it was mesmerizing—how could he resist?

But that was a selfish line of thought. Eric was an unwilling participant in his deviancy, and Chris had subjected him to it. Chris groaned and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. His perversions had a habit of ruining the good things in his life: his career as a plastic surgeon, his marriage, and now his friendship. A wave of self loathing washed over him, and Chris let himself succumb. 

* * *

Eric was pacing around the apartment. He had worked out, and cleaned, and cooked dinner. But now that was done, he wasn’t sure what to do. He was waiting for Chris, and knowing he was waiting for Chris drove him up the wall. Knowing there was a chance Chris might not come home, that he might sneak off to a motel with some floozy made Eric more angry than it should. Eric wanted Chris to face him, to look him in the eyes. He wanted Chris to acknowledge his wrongdoing. He wanted Chris to pay.

Eric let the fantasy play out briefly. He knew what he wanted ultimately, but he also knew he would have to work at it. That even though Chris was a slut, it would take time to make him fully submissive. Eric had little interest in a one-off blowjob to settle a score, he wanted Chris on his knees and happy to be there. He wanted Chris begging for him, admitting to his own inferiority. Eric smirked at the thought.

It was just after 10 when Chris’ key scratched at the lock, and the door slowly opened. Eric was sitting on the couch where Chris had sat the night before, his legs outspread. Chris’ eyes widened at the role reversal, but he said nothing as he shuffled in and closed the door (without locking it, because of course). He followed the scent of dinner into the kitchen, and looked back at Eric. ‘Did you already eat?’

‘No,’ Eric replied, and walked towards the kitchen. Chris placed his bag and coat by the door, then came back to the kitchen and rolled his sleeves up. Eric watched him carefully. Chris washed his hands, dried them, and prepped a quick side salad with the available ingredients. Just enough for two portions. Usually Eric would assist by setting the table or asking what his friend would like to drink with dinner. But instead he reclined against the wall, watching Chris flit around the kitchen. If Chris noticed he said nothing, and before long the dinner table was set.

Eric took his seat and Chris waited for him to sit before he sat as well. Chris also waited for Eric to serve himself before he reached for his own portion. Neither of these were lost on Eric. 

‘Thank you for the meal,’ Chris said softly, glancing up at Eric and smiling weakly. Eric nodded. They ate in contemplative silence, both men stewing in their thoughts but unaware of the other’s flickering emotions. 

Once both had finished, Chris cleared the table, another action Eric was not used to. He watched from the dinner table, reclining. He assessed Chris from his perch, truly looking at the man for the first time in years. He was on the shorter side, only 5’6”, but he had a presence. He had an average build, but his shoulders slumped inwards as if he was shielding himself for once. Eric didn’t ever think much of his sexuality. He was attracted to people in need, people he felt he could help, because if he was truly honest with himself he would see that he needed to be needed. It was no secret to anybody what Chris needed.

Eric blinked, and noticed that Chris had gone still, that contemplative silence between them stretching. ‘Would you like a drink?’ Chris’ voice had a raspy quality to it. He had turned to face Eric, who was looking at the table, his fingers laced and brow furrowed; who shook his head. Chris shuffled his feet, unsure if he should ask for one. 

Chris hesitated to say anything. He wanted to know what Eric was thinking, if he had a punishment in mind, if they were okay. He needed to know if they were okay. ‘What’s ah— what’s on your mind?’ He winced as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Smooth.

‘Just thinking about the patient…’ Eric trailed off, his brow wrinkling more. Chris felt like a fool, of course he was thinking of him. Chris hadn’t thought of the guy in hours. What a selfish man he was, his heart twinging his jealousy. How desperate. 

Eric glanced over to watch the war on Chris’ face as he looked down at the floor. He looked pitiful, truly pitiable and that was how Eric wanted him. He brought his hand down to the table and opened his posture to Chris, who’s gaze remained at the floor. ‘Why, what’s on your mind?’ Chris startled, looking up and catching Eric’s eyes for a moment before he diverted them, turning into himself. An ember of anger burned in Eric’s chest, knowing Chris was too weak willed to hold his sight. He would make them look. ‘What was on your mind?’

Chris opened his mouth and closed it, a fish out of water. ‘I was just—‘ he exhaled, trying to steady his voice, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry?’ Eric asked, his voice monotone. ‘Sorry for what?’

Chris flushed, his stutter returning. He licked his lips. ‘For, for uh, for all of it.’

‘All of what?’ Eric’s stern expression remained unchanging. Chris still couldn’t meet his eyes.

‘You know what I…’ Christ started, his blush deepening. He was mortified that he’d done this, and even more ashamed to admit to it in front of his best friend. ‘I just, I’m sorry.’ 

Eric laughed but it was a mirthless laugh, just a sharp exhale across his vocal chords. ‘How can you be sorry for something that you can’t even admit to doing?’

At those words, Chris’ stomach fluttered. He brought his hand up to his tie and loosened it, desperate for air because Eric’s disdain threatened to suck all the oxygen from the room. Chris did not have a clever comeback because there was simply nothing to say; it was impossible to justify his actions and clearly his numerous apologies held little weight in his friend’s eyes. Eric watched his every move and Chris felt pinned in place, as if Eric saw him and saw through him, saw the sick, twisted parts of him too.

‘I’m sorry for being a slut.’ The words fell from Chris’ lips without a thought and though in the moment he wanted desperately to take them back, in the next moment he knew he was speaking the truth and continued. ‘I’m sorry for exposing you to my deviancy.’

Chris sought out Eric’s eyes, who was staring at him with that same piercing gaze. He felt exposed. Eric appeared to consider those apologies, his mouth twitching slightly as Chris’ words hung in the air. Chris was sorry, truly sorry. But he hadn’t said what he was truly sorry for you.

‘I don’t believe you,’ was Eric’s reply. ‘I don’t think you’re sorry for being a slut.’

Chris began to sweat, his heartbeat quickening. Eric was onto him. ‘I-I’m ah, I’m sorry for jeopardizing our friendship.’ 

Eric nodded to this admission, and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll accept that,’ he said calmly, ‘but I know you have no remorse for being a slut.’

Chris’ heart skipped a beat at those words because Eric could truly see him. It was no secret but it was something very private about himself that he wasn’t sure he wanted everyone to know even though House seemed determined to tell the world. But Eric knew it and that, that made blood pool uncomfortably. Chris shifted his weight; he was guilty as charged. 

The silence returned, coiling around Chris’ throat. He had to break it. ‘How can I make it up to you?’ Chris’ question hung in the air, unanswered, and Eric watched the man’s expression carefully. Chris still couldn’t meet his eyes, his visage bright red as he tugged at his collar and rung his hands. Eric couldn’t pull his eyes away, he needed to see his friend like this—clearly embarrassed. Ashamed. Remourseful. 

Eric let the tension build. He was in no rush, and he wanted to savor this moment. He liked Chris like this, desperate for his approval but unknowing of the depths he would sink to for it. In these precious moments, Chris still had his autonomy. Before Eric told him how he would repay, Chris could make offers: a new tie, a new couch, a new towel. But money was not the issue, and it never had been. Eric’s issue was that Chris had disrespected him, and he did not take kindly to that at all.

Once he’d determined that Chris was sufficiently worked up, he gave the command: ‘Go get my towel and my tie.’

**Author's Note:**

> yes i am ashamed no i am not going to stop


End file.
